


Immortal Like Us

by LittleMissPascal



Series: Death and an Angel [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Female Reader, Gloves, Helmetless Din Djarin, Immortals, Matchmaking, Oblivious Reader, Pining, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissPascal/pseuds/LittleMissPascal
Summary: You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client.You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Series: Death and an Angel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052570
Comments: 4
Kudos: 124





	Immortal Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Tumblr.

You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client.

You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality? 

Memories of your mortal life are few and far between, slipping through your fingers like fireflies in the summer when you try to hold onto them too long. But you doubt anything you experienced could have prepared you for the sight of Death sitting across from you in your living room, legs crossed and entirely at ease in your apartment despite it being his first time visiting. 

You have to remind yourself that right here, right now you’re a Cupid with a mission. Quite possibly the biggest mission of your entire career. You can’t screw this up, not even if it feels like an invisible fist is slowly clenching around your heart as you listen to Din describe his ideal soulmate.

“Whoever it is,” he says while unabashedly observing your furnishings, not willing to rule out a specific gender or race, not when they’re his supposed better half. “They can’t be a mortal.”

Your pencil stills mid-note taking, unsure you heard him right. Most people would assume Death has no sense of humor, but you’ve learned from your encounters with him that assumption is far from the truth. However, when you look up from your notebook to check if he’s trying to make some kind of joke, you fail to find any trace of jest in his expression, not even the faintest gleam of amusement in his brown eyes. 

You tap your writing utensil mindlessly against your leg, looking him over from head to toe and reconsidering your opinion of him in light of this new information. “I didn’t know you disliked mortals so much you’d purposefully exclude them.”

“You misunderstand, angel. It doesn’t matter if I like a mortal or not, either way my touch will kill them.” Din holds up one of his gloved hands in front of you for inspection, as if you’d never noticed them before. Asshole. “Why do you think I take such precautions when we’re in public spaces?”

Truthfully, a specific reason for him wearing multiple layers hadn’t ever really crossed your mind. You’d just accepted it from the start as a facet of his being. Still, your ears burn with embarrassment hot enough you’re half-convinced the room’s temperature has also risen several degrees. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for your house to turn against you in an effort to cause you humiliation in front of your unattainable crush.

On the receiving end of his arched eyebrow, the only defensive retort you can manage is, “Everyone’s got their quirks. I thought poor fashion choices just happened to be yours.”

“Says the angel who collects newspaper scraps as a hobby,” he fires back, peering around you at the stack of newspapers in the corner you’d yet to sort through for articles that snagged your interest.

More and more you’re starting to regret inviting him into your home. 

“We’re not here to talk about me,” you snap, but the rebuke is diminished by the audible note of laughter in your voice, the grin stubbornly pulling at the corners of your mouth.

A flicker of emotion flashes across his face as he stares back at you, as quick to vanish as it was to appear, resembling a glimpse of sunlight peeking through an overcast of clouds. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he had regarded you with…fondness.

“So,” you shake your head, derailing that pathetic train of thought, and reposition your pencil to continue writing, “your soulmate has to be someone who can survive your touch. Which means they obviously have to be immortal like us.”

 _Like us_ , that tiny lovesick voice in the back of your head coos. Maker, you’ve got it bad. If you could get away with slapping yourself in front of him, you’d be giving yourself a concussion right now.

“That should narrow your search down considerably, shouldn’t it?” Din asks, bracing his forearms on his knees as he leans closer into your personal space. If you were to look up, your noses would be within inches of touching. 

Stubbornly, you keep your head firmly looking down at your notes. Partly to hide your blushing face, partly because you don’t trust your own self-control to prevent you from doing something stupid. “In theory, yes. I have a few potential candidates in mind we can arrange dates with.” In response to his prolonged beat of silence, you find yourself offering, “You can wear your armor. If—If that would make you more comfortable, I mean.” 

A gloved hand carefully brushes a few strands of fallen hair back behind your ear, leather faintly scratching against your cheek. You’re so focused on keeping your breathing steady you nearly miss him murmuring, “Are any of these dates Cupids?”

Your mind is slow to process the question, even slower to form an answer as it flips through the list of names that you’d started compiling from the start of your interrogation. 

“No,” you answer at last. Not a single one.

His lips purse, another flicker of emotion flashing across his face, before he pulls away and stands up from his seat. Your heart flips in your chest, because this time you don’t have any doubts about recognizing his expression. But…it doesn’t make any sense.

Din slips his arms through the sleeves of his coat, preparing to leave through your front door and step outside onto the snow-covered sidewalk. You barely pay him any attention, replaying the recent exchange in its entirety on loop within your brain like a vinyl record.

“I look forward to your next call, angel,” Din says, nodding his head in that dumb, stoic way he always does when he leaves you.

“Goodbye,” you say belatedly, seconds after the door had already clicked shut behind him.

In his absence, you finally allow the realization to sink in, rubbing a hand over your mouth in disbelief in spite of the certainty you feel about your assessment being correct. 

That look you saw on Din’s face when you’d told him no.

It had been disappointment.


End file.
